Yeah, fat chance.
She looked at Sutter’s 4Runner parked a few cars away and wondered at the wisdom of going anywhere without her own set of wheels. Well, hell, at least tonight, Bud Traynor couldn’t frame her for murder. She’d have an unshakable alibi. She wouldn’t save Bootman, and Cameron was right, she might not be able to save herself. But she’d shut the door on her fear of Bud Traynor when she’d locked the door behind her. If the man wanted in, he’d get in. If he wanted to plant something, he’d do it. She couldn’t stop him. And she didn’t care. Tonight was for Witt. For her.
Dodge Ram straight ahead. It was gorgeous beneath the street lamp, circles of light bouncing off its black surface. She could never decide what she liked best, the black, the red letters, the shape of the behemoth itself. Or maybe it was Witt driving it. No, no, she’d been in love with Dodge Rams since ... well, forever. Witt was icing on the cake.
“I washed it,” he whispered in her ear. She tingled all the way down to her toes.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“No way.” He was out looking for her.
“Vacuumed the inside, too.”
He pulled her around, opened the door, and eyed her thigh through the skirt’s slit as she grabbed the handle by the door to pull herself up. The interior certainly looked spotless. Air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. Vanilla. Light. Not overpowering.
Witt pulled out the safety belt and leaned over to buckle her in, his forearms touching her as well as his smile. She puffed out a breath of air when he closed the door and walked to his side.
“Settled in, sweetheart?”
That was Cameron’s pet name for her. She suddenly realized Witt had been calling her that a lot. She wasn’t sure she liked him using it. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
He stuck the key in and started the engine. “Don’t you want me calling you sweetheart?”
How about honey or darling (yuk!) or babushka? Something that wasn’t part of her relationship with Cameron. Witt wasn’t Cameron. Witt was ... alive. Real and solid. Witt was Witt. Just as she’d suddenly realized he used the same pet name Cameron preferred, she now realized that what Witt chose to call her didn’t have to be an eerie echo of her relationship with Cameron. Witt made it his own. “You can call me sweetheart.”
He grinned, patting her knee. He hadn’t even noticed her sudden inner turmoil. Or if he had, he saw another reason behind hit. It was a wonder he didn’t tell her he loved her again, driving his point home. Except that he was having too much fun laughing at her.
The truck rolled down her street, turned, turned again. They stopped at light. Witt pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers, looking at her as he talked.
Max listened to the one-sided conversation. “Hey ... yeah, fine ... got someone needs your help, can you meet with us ... good, ASAP ... eleven, tomorrow, we’ll be there.” Short, sweet, to the point, he’d gotten her a lawyer.
It was enough to make a normal girl cry. Of course, she wasn’t normal, but he’d gotten to her all the same. “Thanks.”
“He’s a good guy.” The light had long since changed and Witt made his way onto the freeway. “Candy, little girl?” He pulled a butterscotch out of his T-shirt pocket, popping it in his mouth when she shook her head. “Tired?”
“No.”
“Ya look tired. Put your head in my lap.”
She choked. “Dream on.” She shook her head. “You’re trying to get that blowjob now.”
He gazed at her with innocent baby blues. “I’m concerned about your welfare.” He flipped the armrest up, patted the space beside him, then smiled again before turning back to the road.
Her heart beat double time, triple time. She was afraid it might beat right out of her chest. “But I’ll have to take my seatbelt off. That’s very dangerous. That doesn’t sound like you’re concerned for my welfare.”
“I promise to drive very carefully.”
“But it’s illegal.”
“I know. Sometimes I like to walk on the wild side.”
She did, too. With him. He had that effect on her. “All right. But don’t you dare slam on your brakes.”
“Promise,” he whispered.